


Equal Footing

by saturni_stellis



Category: Heat (1995)
Genre: First Time, Hand Jobs, Homophobic Language, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Semi-Public Sex, Sexual Tension, well maybe a little bit of plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-26 16:44:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17145374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saturni_stellis/pseuds/saturni_stellis
Summary: Vincent knows driving back to the diner is a risk, but it's a risk he's willing to take.





	Equal Footing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [beedekka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beedekka/gifts).



> There just isn't enough fic in the world for these two, so I felt like I had to add some to the small pile. This is PWP with a teeny bit of plot I suppose! Much love as always to my beta. I also have no idea if there is a 'Yale Boulevard' in L.A I completely made it up, please ignore the huge inaccuracy if you know the ins and outs of the city!

“I had coffee with McCauley half an hour ago!”

 

He should've been angry. Hell, he was, but the bigger part of him was impressed. He should've arrested the bastard there and then, but on what grounds? That he didn't tip enough? Now he was gone, like a puff of smoke.

 

Vincent did the only logical thing: threw a few things around and shouted at his team who were only doing their best, then stormed off and got back in his car. The drive would do him good, cool his mind, steady his nerves. He was still reeling from their conversation, still thinking about how McCauley spoke, how his body mirrored his, how he only took a sip of his coffee when Vincent did. He drove through the city aimlessly, L.A’s streets teeming with the sort of filth he’d pick up and book back when he was in uniform. God, that was a lifetime ago. McCauley's words stuck with him... ' _haven't enough time_...' Wasn't that the truth? He wasn't getting any younger.

 

Without thinking, Vincent was back at the same diner. He didn't quite know what he was doing there, but something about it was oddly comforting. Something about McCauley's presence was comforting. Like looking at a younger version of himself, someone that still had a goal, someone that was going somewhere.

 

Vincent sighed, leaning back into his car seat, staring through the diner’s window and watching the people going about their everyday 'normal' lives. It was closing time. The waitresses said goodbye to the regulars and cleaned up the tables, laughing among themselves.

 

After some time, a shadow in the rear-view mirror caught his eye. He glanced at it, not paying it much attention, but then his eyes flitted to his side mirror. He sat up slowly. Turning his whole body to look behind him, his eyes focused and the shadow formed into the figure of a man: Neil McCauley. Vincent jolted. His hand trembled as he opened his car door.

 

His mind screamed at him as he closed the door behind him. He should be on the phone to the station. He should be cuffing McCauley. He shouldn't even be here.

 

McCauley spoke first. “I had this strange feeling you'd be back here.”

 

Vincent raised an eyebrow. “How'd you get here without your car?”

 

McCauley shrugged. Vincent knew better than to push for an explanation. After all, he didn't have one for why he'd come back here.

 

“So, you're still planning the score?”

 

“That's a stupid question.”

 

Of course it was. Vincent almost felt embarrassed; it was as if he wanted to look cool in front of McCauley, to impress him.

 

They stood in silence a little longer, Vincent's chewing becoming more erratic, his hands stuffed into his pockets. McCauley stood still. Always steady. Unwavering.

 

“I'm hungry,” Vincent said, breaking the silence. “You wanna get some pancakes?”

 

McCauley frowned. “It's almost midnight.”

 

“I know a place on Yale Boulevard that's open 24/7. Their maple syrup’s to die for.”

 

McCauley's lips curved into a small smile. “I was more concerned about the fact you could eat pancakes at this hour.”

 

“Hey!” Vincent opened his arms, walking back to his car. “I'm a cop, we don't have regular eating hours. You coming or what?”

 

McCauley moved but only after Vincent had opened his car door. He slid into the passenger seat, looking around cautiously, not saying a word. Vincent started the engine.

 

“Relax. If there was anyone tailing us, they would've brought you in by now.”

 

They drove in silence; the only sound was the low thrum of the engine and Vincent's incessant chewing. They pulled up to the small diner Vincent mentioned and took a booth by the window. It was almost empty aside from one or two truck drivers at the bar and a young couple at the far end. Vincent ordered the house pancakes and McCauley just ordered a coffee.

 

“So here we are again, just two regular guys having coffee,” McCauley said, the first to speak again.

 

“Yeah, only this time we're not on equal footing, are we?” McCauley raised an eyebrow in question. “How’re your crew communicating now? Plastic cups and shoestrings?”

 

He smiled. Obviously their surveillance dump had worked and gotten under Vincent's skin in the right way. “I couldn't have you looking in on us. That puts me at unfair disadvantage. No, _now_ we're on equal footing.”

 

Vincent's pancakes arrived. He tucked in. “So, you go ahead with this score,” he began, speaking with his mouth full. “Say you're successful, which I highly doubt you will be... I got three hundred pieces of paper to fill out with witness statements. The bank, whichever one it is you're planning on stealing from, have a duty to pay back millions of dollars in insurance. What I gotta do to get back on equal footing with you after that?”

 

McCauley watched him for some time. “Catch me.”

 

Vincent cocked his head, sipped his coffee. “No. No, that doesn't level it out. Catching you, having you pay back the money, and explaining to the families of all the people's lives you're gonna destroy with psychological harm would level it out.”

 

McCauley leant forward. “You're not looking to get equal with me though, are you? You're looking to beat me.”

 

Vincent paused. He smiled. “And you?”

 

McCauley nods.

 

Vincent pushed his knife and fork together, taking out his cigarettes before shaking them and offering one to McCauley. He shook his head. Instead of withdrawing one for himself, he went to leave the table. “I gotta take a leak. You gonna be here when I get back?”

 

McCauley looked up at Vincent as though offended by the question. “If you want me to be.”

 

They watched each other for a few seconds, Vincent pushing his tongue against his top set of teeth before smiling slightly and turning toward the toilets. A part of him wanted to turn and look back at McCauley in their booth, but he refrained and walked with purpose towards the men’s room, pushing the door open.

 

He walked over to the basin and looked at his reflection. Was this a big mistake? The DA could have his badge for this, a twenty year career down the pan... like his life wasn't fucked up enough. What the hell was he playing at? He ran the cold faucet and it sprayed water all over the sink and the front of his pants. He cursed as he jumped back, turning down the flow. Leaning over the sink, he rinsed his hands, cupped them to collect cool water. He splashed it onto his face, trying to wake himself up, and repeated the motion several times. When he turned the faucet off and straightened his back, McCauley was staring at him in the mirror.

 

Their eyes locked, the atmosphere suddenly electric. Vincent's face was dripping, and his hands clenched around the sink’s edge. He wasn't armed; his 9mm Beretta wasn't much use to him in the glove compartment of his car. If Neil McCauley decided to shoot him here and now, well, at least he wouldn't have to explain what he was doing having pancakes with him past midnight in downtown L.A. But McCauley didn't pull a gun on him. Instead, he walked over to the towel dispenser, pulled out a few, and came to stand behind Vincent. Vincent went to take the towel McCauley brought up to his face, but McCauley grabbed his hand to stop it. Fine, so they were doing it his way.

 

A hand on the back of Vincent’s neck, gentle yet firm, McCauley held his head in place while wiping the water off his face. It was an odd sensation: another person, another _man_ , wiping him dry. Vincent gave in. He was too tired to fight him off and if he was being honest he didn't much want to. He wanted to see how far Neil McCauley would go.

 

The hand at the back of his neck moved. It was a slow, steady motion, like a gentle massage. McCauley's fingers were above his collar, so he felt them on his skin. They were oddly soft. Maybe it was all the years wearing gloves to avoid finger prints. The hand holding the paper towel scrunched it up and threw it aside; it came to rest on Vincent's chest, palm open, as though it belonged there.

 

“You have a little accident?” McCauley asked, eyes flitting to the wet patch on Vincent's pants.

 

“Uh...” Vincent tried to speak, then McCauley's hand moved, and he found himself lost for words. Staring at the hand in the mirror, it moved slowly ( _so slowly_ ) down the front of his body. His breath hitched. How long would it be before McCauley stepped back and let him go. There was no way, _no way_ he would actually...

 

The hand reached Vincent's belt and his hips jolted. Vincent screwed his eyes shut, wanting to kick himself. He'd shown his hand far too early. McCauley paused briefly, but he didn't stop. His hand kept moving lower, over his belt, and down to his fly. His hand flexed open, palm pressing against his groin, cupping him. The sensation of the cool, damp fabric touching his cock caused Vincent to release the breath he'd been holding in one long shaky sigh. McCauley's other hand squeezed the back of his neck and with that Vincent turned his head, causing their lips to meet over his shoulder.

 

They only hesitated a split second, but after that their mouths came together in a perfect fit. Vincent's lips parted, letting McCauley's close around them. His stubble’s harsh friction only complemented the softness of McCauley's lips that now nipped and sucked at Vincent's. McCauley leant forward. Vincent arched back into him. The kiss deepened, and Vincent was the first to introduce his tongue. It slid out slow, only the tip brushing over McCauley's lower lip. He met it with his own as they took equal dominance of the other’s mouth. After a few seconds, McCauley's kiss was hungrier, mouth opening wider, tongue pushing in further, holding tighter to the back of Vincent's neck. His hand still ghosted above the damp spot on Vincent's pants, but it wasn't until he heard Vincent moan into the kiss that he touched it properly.

 

Vincent pulled away from the kiss, gasping for air like he’d been underwater. His eyes rolled as McCauley grabbed him harder, the line of his cock showing through his pants as it grew. McCauley had a good grip, taking it all in, even his balls, rolling them between his fingers above his two layers of clothing. Vincent took hold of the sink again, groaning as his head fell forward. McCauley closed in, trapping his body against the marble.

 

His mouth now out of reach, McCauley's lips moved to Vincent's neck, nipping the skin. Vincent was suddenly acutely aware that his belt was being unbuckled and his buttons were being pulled open. Jesus, if the Police Captain didn't have his badge for breach of information then he'd definitely have him for being jerked off by a convicted felon in a public toilet. He'd arrested faggots for doing less. But once McCauley's hand was on his bare cock, he forgot all of that. Everything escaped him, even the air in his lungs. His head fell back against McCauley's shoulder so their mouths could meet again. Kissing him harder this time, McCauley's grip tightened on his cock and Vincent had to moan into his mouth, a quiet expletive escaping with it.

 

McCauley smiled against him as his hand moved. Oh God, he was really doing this – he was really giving him a hand job, and here. Even after everything, after weeks of following him, Neil McCauley still had the ability to surprise him. An unfamiliar feeling rose in the pit of Vincent's stomach, something he probably would've attributed to admiration had he not been in his current predicament. He tried to ignore it and pushed his hips into McCauley's pumping fist. God it felt good to be jerked off by another guy. Vincent never would've thought it. He'd never thought about another guy like that before. But, now, all that was running through his mind was Neil McCauley's hands on him, Neil McCauley's lips, his tongue, his arms, his chest and what it would look like with his shirt off.

 

“Fuck...” Vincent whispered, without even thinking about it.

 

McCauley pushed forward, and the enormity of the situation became apparent. Vincent felt the outline of another dick against his ass, and he never could've guessed his reaction would be to want it inside him. He didn't even know, couldn't even imagine what that would feel like, but he knew he wanted it. Now.

 

Vincent pushed his hips back into McCauley's, soliciting a deep, guttural moan from the other man.

 

“You like that?” he asked into Vincent's ear.

 

Shit. He'd never been one for dirty talk, but he wanted more of that too. He wanted to hear how McCauley was going to ram it in him, fingers first, then his dick. All the way in.

 

“Yeah...” Vincent said, his voice wavering. God, he felt like such a dork, like a horny pre-teen on a prom date, but he didn't care. McCauley was giving him what he wanted, and he was ready to take it.

 

As if reading his thoughts, the hand that wasn't gripping Vincent's cock grabbed his ass in a firm hand. McCauley pushed forward again, with more precision this time, like he was demonstrating. Of course he was. Vincent knew what he was doing. He shuddered, feeling his throat close. God he was close.

 

McCauley was good, too good. Had he done this before or was he just good at reading him? Perhaps a bit of both.

 

He pulled Vincent back by his shoulder, his chest flush with his back, and he whispered into his ear. “Go on, it's okay. I know you want to. Go on...”

 

McCauley's thumb circled the tip of Vincent's cock, spreading the pre-come that had already leaked out. He pulled, twisted and pushed in all the right ways, driving Vincent wild. Vincent’s hips thrust forward, slowly fucking into McCauley's hand as he leant back again, eyes rolling in his head as he sighed loud and came hard. McCauley rode it out until the last drop, running his hand down when he was finished and cupping his balls, making Vincent's cock twitch and leak some more. He groaned, unashamedly, certain that if anyone was standing outside the restroom door they would've heard. McCauley's cock was still pressed into his back, and he didn't even want to think about what he wanted to do to it. Instead, he turned on the spot, a little embarrassed, and tucked himself back into his trousers.

 

McCauley's hands hovered at his waist, as though they were going to pull him forward again. Vincent was far too tired for round two but wasn't averse to another kiss. However, McCauley took a step back, a signal that it was over. Vincent straightened out and they looked at each other.

 

“This still doesn't make us even,” Vincent whispered, voice hoarse.

 

“You better come up with a way of closing in on me then.”

 

They shared a small look of understanding, almost a smirk, and McCauley left Vincent leaning against the basin.

 

When he got back to his car, there was a note tucked under windscreen wiper:

 

_I paid for your pancakes. Looks like you owe me this time._

 

 


End file.
